


Want

by herbwrites



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, he can get u laid, present tense! oh god, sex in a river, skjor is the ultimate wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbwrites/pseuds/herbwrites
Summary: The Dragonborn turns up at Jorrvaskr, having slain Alduin two years ago and looking to make some coin. Only she's six feet tall, made from solid muscle and really, really pisses Aela off. Shenanigans ensue.





	

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had some new meat through that door,” says Vilkas, scratching one thick black eyebrow. Aela takes a seat next to him, passes him a bottle. “Thanks.”

It’s a cool evening. Summer is waning, and it won’t be long before the bitter winds and snow of another winter arrives. They’ve propped the doors to the mead hall open to enjoy the last of the fair weather. Voices carry up from the marketplace below as people pass to and fro from the Bannered Mare.

“Getting bored of all the familiar faces?” Aela asks him.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “It’d be nice to just…have a bit of a change. That’s all.”

“Well, be careful what you wish for. I don’t even want to think about what kind of whelp is going to turn up next.”

 §

“Up!” the innkeeper shouts, bringing the broom down onto Saskia’s head. Hard. She wakes with a start, snorting and knocking several empty mead bottles onto the floor. “You’ve been here all night. Now get out!”

She groans. “Mara…where am I?”

“If you don’t piss off, I’ll set the dog on you.”

That gets her moving. The innkeeper at least has the kindness to toss her bag out the door after her. She stands on the porch, blinking in the morning sunlight. Karthwasten. She’s in _Karthwasten_ , with the mother of all hangovers. She reeks of food and smoke and alcohol, and there’s a decent amount of drool down the front of her shirt.

There is nowhere to go. Her memory of the previous night is starting to return and she’s pretty sure she’s squandered all of her coin on booze. Saskia sighs heavily. Her best option is to head to the nearest city and find work, but she owes a hefty sum to the Silver Blood Hall in Markarth, so she slings her bag up onto her back and instead begins the long walk west to Morthal.

 §

It’s almost dark by the time she stumbles across a small camp made up of three hunters sat around a fire. They stare at her warily as she approaches, but she holds her hands up, showing she means no harm. She knows she must look a mess. She’s wearing her ratty old travelling cloak with various straps tangled together over the top of it form her bag, her sword and her shield. Her boots are in need of repair and her hands are wrapped in old rags. Not to mention her hair – matted black waves knotted back in some half-hearted attempt to keep it out of her face.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks. One of them shrugs. “Thanks.” She takes a seat and warms her hands on the flames.

“Where are you headed?” another says. He’s thin, and tired-looking. Such is the life of a hunter.

“Morthal. Looking for work.”

“Morthal ain’t exactly the friendliest of places, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I’ll be right at home, then,” she assures him. She doesn’t bother to mention that she’s passed through there hundreds of times.

“Y’know, if you’re looking for work, I hear the Companions pay well,” another pipes up.

Saskia blinks. “They get _paid_?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s a tough life, but the coin’s meant to be good. If they take you in, that is.”

She’d been in and out of Whiterun a fair amount, but not for at least a couple of years. Sure, she’d heard of the Companions. But the way people went on about them had convinced her that they spent all their time hiding in their mead hall, spreading stories of their prowess. And she’d been too busy to investigate. But now…

“Well then.” She claps her hands together. “Next stop, Whiterun.”

 

Aela is restringing her bow out on the front steps when she spots the newcomer. She knows this woman isn’t a local purely from how _dirty_ she is. Her face is coated in grime and dust and her legs are lashed with mud up to her knees. Aela watches as she plods heavily up the steps and comes to a halt in front of her.

“This is Jorrvaskr, right?” the stranger asks, in a voice that is dark and warm. Aela can only nod. “Thanks.” She turns and watches as the woman continues up to the door and pushes inside. Then she snorts loudly to herself. She’s going to scandalize Tilma with all that mud, doubtless. And Divines know what Kodlak will make of her, if she’s coming to join.

§ 

Saskia unsheathes her sword and watches as Vilkas fails to hide his shocked expression.

“That looks…expensive. Where’d you get it?”

“I, uh, found it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “ _Found_ it?” he echoes.

She scowls, and waggles it in his face. “I didn’t steal it, alright? I used to adventure and stuff. Y’know, poking around in bandit hideouts, taking their belongings. Living the high life.”

“Come on then, High Life. Show me what you’re made of.”

He quickly discovers that she’d made of steel and a healthy share of pent up aggression. He only gives her his sword so that she doesn’t see him cradling his shield arm.

“Keep your eye on that one,” he tells Aela as she comes out into the training yard. “Wouldn’t want to meet _her_ in a dark alley, that’s for sure.”

Aela smirks. “Getting soft in your old age, Vilkas?” He scowls in response, but her grin only widens.

At dinner that night, Aela is alarmed to see that their newest recruit, after having bathed, is, well…attractive. Her face is handsome, with thick eyebrows and wind-burnt cheeks, and she’s broad-shouldered and her shirt is pulled taut over her muscular arms.

“If you stare any longer your eyes might fall out,” Skjor warns her. She turns away, quickly planting her gaze on her plate and shoveling several spoonfuls of broth into her mouth.

“I wasn’t staring,” she says after swallowing.

“Sure. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

But Aela forgets about the whelp’s good looks within the first few weeks. Saskia is chaotic. She drinks too much, talks too loud, swears like a sailor, and sleeps until well past midday. Aela is fairly certain that she hears her and Ria making loud noises in one of the storerooms one night, but she ignores that, and she also ignores the fact that Ria can’t walk properly the next day. She and Vilkas agree that the whelp needs to be brought into line, but Skjor doesn’t seem fussed about the matter.

“She lives different to you goodie-goodies. So what?” he says, peeling an apple as they sit in the shade of the back porch. They watch as Farkas and Vilkas spar. Although they’re shirtless, the last of the summer heat is gone, and Aela can see that their arms are pricked with goose bumps.

“The people of Whiterun expect a Companions to be honourable, Skjor. Not lead a life of… _debauchery_.”

“She’s proven herself to be more than capable in combat, and she brings in plenty of coin. You just don’t like her.”

 §

A few days later, Aela is heading down into the living quarters when Farkas catches her, carrying a pile of clean clothes.

“Hey, if you’re heading down there, could you take this? It’s one of Saskia’s.” He pulls a shirt from the pile and passes it to her.

Saskia isn’t down where all the whelp’s beds are. She must be in the spare room they keep for bathing and doing laundry.

 

Aela doesn’t knock.

 

Because she’s an idiot, because she’s too caught up in what she’s going to say to the new blood, how she’s going to give her a piece of her mind.

 

So when Aela walks in, she’s met with Saskia standing in the middle of a tub, tipping water over her head, as naked as the day she was born. Aela stiffens. Stares. She was right about Saskia being built like a wall – her stomach is creased with abdominal muscles, and her thighs are thick and powerful. Her breasts are slightly larger than Aela’s, and she knows that if she held them, they’d spill over her the edge of her palms ever so slightly. She has scars from weapons and animals scattered across her skin, and a fresh bruise across one shoulder. The water she’s just poured over herself is streaming down her body, in between her breasts, down her stomach, and into the nest of jet-black curls in between her legs. Her hair is in her eyes, and she uses one hand to slick it away and look at Aela.

“Oh. Hey.” She sounds surprised, but not embarrassed, and she doesn’t make any effort to cover herself. Aela knows that she’s gone bright red, but she can’t tear her eyes away. Saskia points to the shirt. “Is that mine?” Aela swallows thickly, nods. “Thanks. I, uh…are you going to leave now? I mean, you can watch if you want, but the show’s pretty much over.” Saskia grins, and Aela feels like she’s going to combust there and then. She drops the shirt and flees.

 §

Aela lies in bed that night, unable to sleep, completely mortified. Then at last, when she’s certain that everyone else has turned in for the night, she tugs of her trousers, rolls onto her front, and shoves a pillow between her legs.

She wants Saskia to fuck her. Up against a wall. On a table. On the floor. She doesn’t care. She wants to watch the muscles in her back and arse flex as she lies beneath her. She wants her head in between her legs. She wants to come apart under her tongue, under her hands. She’s never wanted something so much in her life.

§

Skjor pretty much forces Aela to take her out on a job, despite her protests.

“We can’t have you moping about the place refusing to even look at the whelp. You need to work on your relationship with her. Suck it up. There’s a bear cave down in the Rift. The bastard’s been terrorizing the locals. You know what to do. Try not to strangle her in her sleep, though.”

It takes a day and a half to walk there. Saskia proves to be a lively travelling Companion – she whistles, hums, sings snatches of old ballads, and stops to strike up a conversation with everyone they pass.

Aela clears her throat. “You seem at home on the road.”

“Sure am. Wandered for a good couple of years. And did plenty of travelling before that.”

“Were you a mercenary?”

Saskia gives her a secretive smile and taps the side of her nose. “Of sorts.”

It’s a dirty, sweaty job. The bear doesn’t go down easily, but they get out of it with no more than a few bruises and grazes between them. Afterwards, covered in grime and mud, Saskia makes a beeline for the nearest river and starts yanking her armour of.

“What are you doing?” Aela snaps, staring in horror.

“Scrubbing off, what does it look like I’m doing?” Once she’s naked, Saskia leaps into the water. “Come on!”

Aela has the strong urge to go and brood alone until Saskia’s done, but she knows that if she does, her ghost will come back and kick her ass for not taking this opportunity when its muscular ass is practically staring her in the face. So she strips off as angrily as she can manage and wades into the river.

Saskia sighs, and Aela has to fight back all of the images that enter her mind at the sound. “This is the life. Engaging with nature the good old-fashioned way.”

“Open to attack,” Aela adds bitterly.

“Lighten up,” Saskia tells her, and splashes at her. Aela shrieks as the cold water washes over her. Saskia begins to laugh. Aela scowls and splashes her back, but she sees it coming and dodges out of the way. Aela lunges, but she ducks under the water. Aela follows. Her fingers close on one strong arm, and she yanks it towards her. When they come up to the surface, they’re chest to chest. She can feel Saskia’s breath on her face and she doesn’t miss the way her eyes lower to her breasts and linger there. And then, to top it all off, she has the audacity to lick her lips.

“This is an interesting development,” Saskia teases.

“Shut up.” And Aela kisses her.

Every thought leaves her mind at the unbelievable warmth of her mouth, but Saskia doesn’t waste any time, reaching around to grip the flesh of Aela’s arse, squeezing hard and making her gasp. She lifts her slightly, and Aela wraps her legs around her waist, tangling her fingers in her hair and deepening the kiss. Saskia brings up a hand to cup her breast and tease her nipple with maddeningly rough, calloused fingers. Aela tosses her head back and groans, grinding into Saskia’s stomach. Saskia moves the two of them to the river bank and lowers Aela down, letting their wet bodies slide past each other, until her back rests on the ground. She takes a moment to look at her, lying there below her, but then Aela arches her back and Saskia doesn’t have any choice other than to duck down and take a pert nipple into her mouth.

Aela lets out a breathy moan. “ _Yes_.”

Saskia slides a hand between her legs and begins to stroke, using her knuckles at first, then her fingers, then abandons that plan altogether and slots their legs together and begins to rut. Aela closes her eyes. She lets her head fall back, following Saskia’s rhythm, allowing the pressure to build. Aela slides her hands over her arse, digging her fingers in with a grip that will leave bruises. Saskia gasps and bucks into her suddenly, toppling her over the edge. Aela cries out, then clenches her teeth and rubs against Saskia’s thigh hard and fast. Saskia groans, following her climax, then collapses on top of her.

 

When Aela finally manages to catch her breath, she huffs. “I’m going to have a hard time explaining this to Skjor.”

Saskia laughs and slaps her arse.


End file.
